


Married to a Doll

by irishluff



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishluff/pseuds/irishluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy has changed, and the Master doesn't like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Married to a Doll

There was something wrong with Lucy.

The Master had absolutely no idea what could possibly be wrong, but something was off. This irritated him for quite a few reasons. For one, it confused him. Some human with below-average intellect should definitely not be able to confuse an all-knowing Time Lord. It was just wrong. For another, what did she have to complain about? First he spared her life, then he made her his queen despite all his better judgement. She had everything her little mind could think to want, but she had the nerve to be unhappy. It was rudeness, really. Rudeness would not be tolerated.

"Come here, Lucy," he said sharply.

From across the room, she jumped as if he'd slapped her. Another one of her weird little habits. She always acted startled when someone addressed her, as if she'd forgotten they were there. Always off somewhere in her head, staring off into space, like she was too damn bored for the rest of the world. She had to stop doing that. She turned to him and turned her mouth up into a pathetic attempt at a smile. Did she honestly think that would work? A toddler could see through that. To fake a smile, you needed to do more than twitch the cheek muscles a bit, which was all she appeared to be doing. Her eyes were as dead as a corpse, which didn't help anything. As it stood, that little smile was nothing but dishonesty. It was as if she wanted to upset him.

"Of course," she said softly, standing up and moving to him. Her movements were for the most part normal, but he couldn't help but notice the upright way she held herself looked stiff and uncomfortable, where it used to look natural and regal.

When she arrived, he spent a long moment just looking at her and wondering for the billionth time why he hadn't just killed her yet. It'd sure save him a lot of anxiety. While he did this, a million emotions flashed like tiny sparks in those cold, dead eyes of hers. The changes in expression were practically imperceptible, but he saw it. Of course he saw it, he saw everything that happened on this ship. Every single person on board was completely under his thumb, and Lucy was no different. He was a bit more in tune to her physical state than most; unlike everyone else on the ship, he had a direct benefit to her being happy. However, for some reason he couldn't begin to fathom, she wasn't. And though he wasn't suffering from her unhappiness, he actually cared, which was really weird.

With a quick motion, he grabbed her wrist. While her emotions were still unknown- face unreadable, eyes disturbingly empty, forbidden to telepathically enter her mind and actually obeying the boundary- he could keep track of physical changes. While they could be small, they were always there, and he would notice.

The first thing he noticed was how at even the lightest touch, her muscles tensed ever so slightly. The movements were small and Lucy did a very good job of keeping them in check, but he was looking for them. After a moment, he shifted his index finger slightly and pressed it on the cavity next to her veins. Again, he noted a slight finch. It only took him a few seconds to get the information he wanted. Elevated pulse. With that, he moved his fingers back into their original position. Experimenting further, he tightened his grip a bit. Her breathing showed a subtle, but definite change. Each inhale was slow, each exhale very controlled. A less observant man might take her slow breathing to mean calm. The Master thought it seemed more like a desperate attempt to keep her breath under control. Interesting…

Having enough information, he let her wrist go. While he could have kept going all day if he wanted, a silly little experiment wasn't worth another broken or sprained wrist, which was clearly the direction it was going. It would be so easy, just keep squeezing or twist a but until something snapped. It would also be pointless, so he cast aside the thought. Even if something like that might shock a little emotion into her face. But no, that would just be needless pain. He scanned her again. What did it all mean? There were a few things the combined tensing and elevated pulse could mean, but none matched the breathing. 

And certainly nothing matched the eyes. 

Those eyes, he kept coming back to them, so cold and vacant. Quite frankly, she looked like a corpse. Right now, the position of her eyes made it seem that she was looking at him, but she really wasn't. She was staring blankly at something far away, looking right through him. It made him very uneasy. 

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, irritated. 

Again, she looked surprised to be addressed. "Nothing really," she said vaguely, sounding uncertain. Even as she spoke, her eyes were in changing. Cold, dead, staring at nothing. 

At least she was being honest. 

He leaned in close to her and looked into her eyes. She didn't give him the slightest reaction. He grabbed her forearms, and every reaction he'd observed earlier was repeated. They could mean so many things; arousal, fear, love... The symptoms were remarkably similar, but none of them fit. It really came down to the eyes. Absolutely nothing reached them, which was throwing him off. He leaned in even closer until he could feel each one of her slow, calculated breaths. If he'd looked down, he would've seen her hands shake slightly. Instead, he remained fixed on her eyes. 

"What is wrong with you?" he said to no one in particular. 

"Nothing," she said tightly. "I'm perfectly fine." And again with the small, pathetically fake smile. They were quiet for a few more moments until she said, barely audible even do close together, "Please let go of me."

Of course, he didn't have to listen. But honestly, what would that prove? He could be domineering for the sake of being domineering some other time. For now, he let go of her arms, and she let them drop limply to her sides. It was like being married to a doll. 

With one quick, sharp movement, he struck her across the face. She followed the motion, turning away from him, bending over and burying her head in her hands, hair falling around her to further obscure her face. He could see her, tense and breathing very deeply. Oh look, so she did have the capability to react to something. 

With a soft hand, he turned her around and moved her hands away from her face. Though her eyes were still vacant, they were thankfully dry. If the only way her eyes could be expressive was by crying, that would just be pathetic. "Dishonesty will get you nowhere," he said sharply. 

"I'm sorry," she said automatically. It bothered him a bit, every single time she uttered those words it was the same. The inflection and volume never changed, as if she was reciting the sentiment. Again, he was married to a doll. He hadn't married a doll, so when the hell had this happened?

He pulled her into a hug. "Thank you," he said, accepting her broken record of an apology despite himself. In his arms, she seemed to melt, leaning into him and once again breathing those slow, deep, calculated breaths. Even as relaxed as she seemed to be in this hug, she still felt the need to control every aspect of herself down to the breathing. If only he could convince her to let him into her mind for just five minutes do he could figure her out. 

There was something very deeply wrong with his wife and he had no idea what it was


End file.
